Passion, Basketball and Orange Lemonade
by dandelion-kid
Summary: Daisuke recalls the start of his first, genuine relationship. Though it wasn't exactly expected whom with, and the beginning of the start was a PRETTY lukewarm argument. As disclaimer, I claim no right to the ownership of the Digimon franchise.


That night, there was a peculiar tension in the air, and even to this day, when my anxiety is the only thing controlling my word and my action, I get the same damn emotion and, I am told, that I receive a faraway look on my face. Yamato would always shake his head so that his shaggy, untidy, unkempt hair and mumble a long, continuous sentence of inaudible, grumpy words about how dopey I was and that Takeru and Hikari would think far less of me. I was always considered the team controller and hardheaded, confident leader. I absolutely despised being stereotyped as the typical, soccer-crazed young man. I mean, I want to be considered a normal teenager just as the next person. Yeah, being a digidestined sure comes with a couple of drawback, minus the possibility of exploding into data and dieing. It also means that you're never going to be able to just catch a movie any weekend, or going on a date with anybody other than those who truly knew you. I mean, I cherish the fact that I was chosen by fate or whatever, but I can't help but ponder what may have happened if it had been anybody else in my class. Or school. Or… world? Whenever I explained this to Takeru, the young man would hardly interfere with my temperamental, ceaseless argument and nod whenever I got physical with anything, and I mean _anything _that would soar across the distance of the room and shatter. When I calmed down, he might even smile. Speaking of Takeru, I may as well explain what leads to me appearing with a dreamy, dazed look on my face. I guess that night would explain the way I am now. People are far more accepting and life can lead up to being so much easier and carefree. Like saving the world, though, these things also come with the limited, usual drawbacks.

I mean, everything does, right?

So, let us see… I remember myself carefully and gently planting the phone back onto the receiver as I'd finished the call with Takeru, who had moaned and complained that Hikari was desperately begging and pleading to view her new recent and most favourite show ever, Desperate Housewives I believe it was. I don't get those kinds of programmes. A bunch of loveless and big-breasted women feigning loneliness and scurrying around as if they are looking a man with all detailed perfection – and, to clear things, I may as well shatter the hopes of several young, female teenagers out there.

No man is perfect, sorry.

Anyway, back to the point and story, which I would've otherwise explained several moments ago, had it not been for my opinion on nighttime drama. So, seeing as Hikari had won the mercy and generosity of Takeru, who'd decided to phone me and ask if I'd allow him to watch the basketball game over at my house. I'd immediately and enthusiastically agreed, not because Takeru is everyone's favourite guy, but because I'd needed company and that guy was, without a doubt, one of my closest friends so far. It just may have been Yolei in second place, had she not moved to New York to live with her pink-haired role model, Mimi. So, I'd hastily and feverishly prepare the whole place in roughly ten minutes, setting up lemonade and nachos. Yeah, I may not appear it, but I kind of inherited my nitpick attribute from my mom.

I changed quickly from the indigo, striped pyjamas I'd lazily and unfortunately been wearing all day, into a new, fresher outfit that didn't stink. I'd long since switched from my usual, goggles and fire drawing rimmed coat to a light beige shirt, with baggy and loose dark green pants. Once I pulled these on, a sharp and elated ring announced Takeru's arrival and I stumbled and tripped across the room, swinging the door open forcefully so that I almost whacked myself harshly in the nose. And there was Takeru Taikashi, standing soundly in all his handsome glory, with a beaming and blatantly natural grin sitting upon his face as he stepped into my apartment, whipping of his grey scarf. I offered to take it off him, but he shook his head.

"I'll do it, I insist," he said to me as he placed it softly upon the coat rack. I must have looked idiotic and unintelligent for a couple of seconds, with my mouth agape slightly. Snapping it shut, I nodded and sprinted into the kitchen quickly, shakily pouring a glass of fizzy orange lemonade for myself. I paused, feeling to oddly mannerly to ask. I always acted strange about people I looked up to, despite me outwardly seeming I only like them as friends.

"Lemonade?" I called, running a hand through my dark chestnut brown hair. The young man's voice answered as I heard him switch on the television and collapse onto the enormous crimson beanbag. "Eh, sure."

I returned moments later and swiftly plopped down beside him, relaxing and appearing calm, cool and collected. All right, I admit, I got those three revision words from this anger management control book I'd been reading to control my lashing out and all, but it'd surely aided me to no extent. In fact, Takeru was the one who'd been supplying these books. Such a great reader, he was.

We sat there in silence, save the few grunts and exclamations of Takeru as he urged his team to kick the others ass, despite that, for the time being, they _were _kicking backside. Plenty of it. Takeru, I noticed, would also snap his hands to his head during a basket, chuckle in glee and then calm down whilst still laughing. I still feel weird to this day when I think of how cute it is.

It wasn't long before I was sick and tired of the flashing lights of the basketball stadium, or whatever it was, and the cheering and the running and all that kind of stuff. It had been an hour and I was impatient toward Takeru, as he wasn't giving me any attention. Hell yeah, I'm attention seeking and I'm very proud of it. Not spoiled though, never ever spoiled. I raised my hand to switch the channel over and Takeru, with no time to spare, placed his on mine and lowered my fingers so that I dropped the remote in awe. A tingling nerve or something must have snapped and I fought in vain to stop myself from blushing a soft pink. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap… Daisuke, I thought madly, say something mean and vile to stop yourself.

"Basketball is stupid," I managed to blurt out. Takeru froze and, hurt, turned to me with a swish of his shaggy blonde hair, similar to Yamato's. His face was containing disbelief at my sudden outburst of biased sentences and sat there gazing in my eyes that I had to blink as if forfeiting in a staring contest. He finally spoke rather blankly and he stood up.

"Daisuke, what the heck is wrong?" he asked quietly. Even when he was frustrated, he was timid as a fly. Aw, bugger, he'd found me out. I had to reply.

"Nothing." I was a bad liar.

"There is."

I stood up, aggravated, but Takeru still didn't flinch and a look of one hundred percent curiosity passed over his boyish face. Takeru moved forward and my feet stuck to the ground. The sound of cheers and applause burst from the television screen as I stared upon Takeru's face. He put his hands on my shoulder and I shivered, finding the strength to strongly move back. However, this sent the two of us tumbling to the carpeted floor and could feel Takeru's breath upon my neck as I lay, unmoving and uncomfortable on the floor. Takeru struggled a little, before eventually leaning upwards. His knees were placed strangely close to my, erm, private bits. His hand was placed on my lower chest and the other was curling intact with mine. My heart was thumping a little louder than usual and adrenaline rushed through my veins explosively. Takeru moved closer and I felt my head rise upward lacking will and control to meet him.

Is this happening?

And there we were, huddled together on the floor, placed in an exotic, romantic and tantalizingly sexy position. Half of Daisuke Motimiya was urging to just meet his lips and the other half was begging for his reputation. I decided for the first one. So, feverishly reaching forward, I dragged him toward me and met his lips with mine, in and we sat there snogging passionately for several moments, content with the outcome. Takeru pulled apart, breathless, and with a grin leaned down again and our lips met once again.

I couldn't believe that I felt oddly ecstatic.

I won't reveal the rest of the story, as even Daisuke Motimiya values his own privacy and expects to meet the moral standard of doing whatever I legally like in the walls of my own apartment. But, I'll allow everybody to know one thing, and one thing for sure.

I now adore and enthuse the nights when Hikari pleads to watch that show and she always states whenever we all hang out that Takeru gives in to her pleads far more simply and frequently, before he leaves for my apartment.

And yes, I suppose we could be classified as a couple. I bet all the gossipers would take all their life force off of that.

Yet another scene in the long, extended romance movie in my, that is, Daisuke Motimiya's life.


End file.
